Devil May Cry Remnants
by Cpl.Hicks
Summary: A mysterious drug turns people mad. A case of suicides troubles a corrupt detective. A devil hunter seeks the truth behind a mute boy's prophecy. And a warrior prepares for the end of days. Three stories collide, connected by No Name. The one true devil.
1. Prologue: Frank's Report

**Summary** - A mysterious drug turns people mad. A case of suicides troubles a corrupt detective. A devil hunter seeks the truth behind a mute boy's prophecy. And a warrior prepares for the end of days. Three stories collide, connected by No Name. The one true devil.

**Details** - This story follows 3 main characters: Roark, Dante, and Pandora. Each of their stories opens with a journal and then switches to third point of view, describing their side of a particular day. There'll be other things included, like chatroom conversations and reports from other characters. Finally, the story is set after DMC2.

**Copyrights** - I wish I could own these hotties, but I don't:-( Dante and Vergil belong to Capcom. So do Trish, Lucia, Lady, and the rest of the DMC gang. Everyone else is mines.

**Author's Note** - This story contains harsh language, religious discussion, violence, suicide, strong adult situations, drug & alcohol usage. In no way does this story condone either action. In truth, this story is really about hope and redemption, partly inspired by my hope for a family friend who committed suicide years ago to find peace. Other than all this, read on brave readers and be patient since the story slowly unravels itself together. While you may find one character too odd for your flavors, know that each of the three are tied together. You might overlook Roark's or Pandora's entry but then you'll be overlooking some major things happening during Dante's storyline so be forewarned. Also please don't sue me if this story screws with your head. I actually found myself getting ticked off at one of my own characters, lol!

**Devil May Cry: Remnants**

Prologue - Frank's Report

**Chicago, Devon Street - Vortex's Dance Club**

**1:09 AM** - Arrived at Vortex on account of several club goers reporting 'brutal murder and chaos' occurring in said club. Several were present on our arrival. Many were distressed and too incoherent to speak. Possibly intoxicated. According to one eyewitness, at around 12:45 AM several civilians began 'to eat each other' while remaining members 'continued dancing madly.' Music, heavy metal, could be heard inside complex. Assumed many club goers and band inside still unaware of the situation. Proceeded with caution to avoid panic.

**1:11 AM** - Attempted to enter complex, however, all entrances were barricaded. Security officers of club were not present. Requested back-up.

**1:12 AM** - Screaming could be heard and three shots were fired. Screaming resumed for approximately three minutes then stopped. Meanwhile, music resumed playing.

**1:16 AM** - Music finally stopped.

**1:21 AM** - Back-up team arrived. Successfully entered the front entrance, the foyer of the club. Immediately noted a foul stench in the air that could be described as spoiled meat. Also noted the faint smell of gun powder, possibly from gun fire heard earlier.

**1:22 AM** - Entrance to dance floor was either barricaded or blocked by something.

**1:24 AM** - Finally pushed open double doors. Discovered door was indeed being blocked. By bodies. Many more bodies were discovered at the center of the dance floor. They appeared to be stacked on top of the other. Majority of the club goers were found dead, chunks of their flesh torn out. Remaining few were fatally wounded, suffering from massive blood lost. Called in an ambulance and requested extra assistance.

Oddly, the band was absent as well as their equipment.

**1:28 AM** - Upon further investigation of the scene we realized there were a handful of club goers still alive backstage. Though suffering from similar 'bite' wounds they didn't appear to be severe or life-threatening. However, each of the 15 we found were currently eating off the bodies. They all appeared to be in a trance of some sort as neither of them seemed aware of our presence. Even when Officer Nikolov fired a warning shot they didn't make an attempt to escape or stop eating. As Officers Mitchel and Mendez arrested two of them, however, they all began to scream and went into a state of confusion. When one of them tried to flee the scene Officer Nikolov employed his stun gun.

**1:31 AM** - Gathered all 15 to the foyer. All remained in a state-of-confusion. Officer Nikolov and I returned to the dance floor to check on the fatally wounded and search for more survivors.

**1:36 AM** - Assistance arrived and the 15 taken in for questioning. Officers Mitchel and Mendez rejoined us at the dance floor to continue our search. No other survivors were found.

**1:38 AM** - Ambulance arrived. Several of the fatally wounded already announced dead. Only one taken away to the hospital for immediate treatment.

**Personal Notes / Additional Information:**

Event shared similar characteristics with cases 1045, 1302, 1506, 1966, 2179. These cases aren't localized to a certain area but rather, spread across the world. From Japan to here in the States. Yet, they share a strong recurring theme. Each of these events occurred in secluded night clubs, for one. Mainly underground. Possibly to avoid attention. More important, however, is that each case presented cannibalistic behavior among club goers. Strangely, those who had actually partaken in the cannibalistic behavior like the 15 we recently found, didn't remember why they did it. Yet, they felt they had no control over themselves, as if possessed by an 'unknown force.' Because it remains unknown as to how many cases are similar to this in nature, determining a timeline to establish the first case is improbable at the moment. Yet, it's been my theory that these cases may have begun just during the past few years.

With the exception of three, all participants in each of the cases had been law-abiding citizens with clean records. Other than that night, they had never met each other. Psychological tests revealed none of them were mentally ill either. Nor did they display any criminal-like behavior. However, many admitted to taking illegal substances. A blood test revealed an unidentifiable chemical present in their bloodstreams at the time of the event. Even more revealing, these people had admitted in taking an unknown drug that night. Forensics determined that many corpses possessed this same chemical too at the time of death. Eyewitnesses who survived the ordeal and didn't partake in the cannibalistic behavior actually tested negative for this chemical. There may be a connection established here.

Details of this drug remain unknown. There's always a chance another factor is the cause for these extreme behaviors. Yet, I recommend a thorough investigation of the drug since it's been present in all these cases. If it is indeed responsible for these odd behaviors then we have a serious matter in our hands. Its side effects are extremely lethal and, as we all know, drugs remain a problem worldwide. The distribution of the drug may be as far reaching and elusive as other drugs out in the street.

Having said that, I feel the Department must proceed with caution. The grisly details displayed in these cases might cause panic beyond our community. As we know, some underground organizations might even take advantage of this. Luckily, all the cases I mentioned here haven't merit enough publicity thanks to the current Project Serial scandal. Regardless, I suspect we'll see more cases like this emerging in the future so it'll only be a matter of time before the public knows. Perhaps sooner. I feel we should place these cases on our top agenda and contact other Departments to make them aware of the situation.

One last thing that I feel is worth mentioning, and possibly another link to these cases, is the presence of an unknown band. No one remembers the band's name nor can recollect their faces. All that we truly know for sure is that they're a heavy metal band that has a taste for the Satanic. Even among those who survived the event don't remember their name. Asked who was playing in the Vortex that night, none of them recalled. However, one of the eyewitnesses said something I found peculiar.

'They were playing the Devil's music.'

**- Sgt. Frank Reese**

**Author: Hmmm… an unknown drug mixed up with a notorious band playing devil music. Plus cannibalism! Sounds like a case for Scooby-doo and the gang! **


	2. Roark's Journal Entry 1

**Author:** The very first of many journal entries. Basically, these journals will setup the storyline of the chapter following afterwards. A minor note, this chapter contains harsh language. Also, because I wanted to keep things real for Roark's character, some words are in Spanish (they're in italics to give you a heads up). Don't worry, there are only two or three and within the context of the sentence you should have some idea what he's talking about. Enjoy!

** Roark's Journal Entry 1 **

Today's my first day trying this out. My therapist suggested it. Supposedly this ought to clear my head, or something to that extent. I doubt it. There's a lotta things to do right now and this seems like a complete waste of time. Still, if it makes that cocksucker shut up then I'll give this thing a whirl. It wouldn't be the first time I tried something I didn't like.

Come to think of it, this is my first time writing in a journal. Even in grade school I blew off those journal assignments. When I did have to write about ninety-nine percent of it was bullshit, anything to get the teacher off my back. Having said that, this really is my first time doing this. So how should I start? Should I address you as 'journal' during our conversations? How about Mars? That sounds nice. It's my favorite planet too. So should I introduce myself to you, Mars? I guess that's a beginning.

My name's Roark Esperanza, named after some character from a book I never bothered acquiring about. I come from Spanish descent as my last name would imply. In case you don't speak Spanish, Mars, esperanza means hope. This was something I always felt ironic considering all the hardships my family and I had to endure. I'd like to skip this part of the movie but I got the feeling this was what my therapist was talking about, me being open and reviewing my past and all that fluff-fluff shit. Here goes.

My family was in the low-income range, living in a hell hole so to speak. Money got even tighter when that bastard of a father left us. I was nine. Mama felt it was her fault he ditched us but I knew, even at that age, the cut was much deeper than that. At around eleven my older brother, the only sibling I had, got mixed up in drugs and a crazy broad. Stupid fuck got himself so out of it one day that he blew his girlfriend away with a shotgun. Apparently, he thought she was a demon. Afterwards, he was sent to the ward where he was found dead a couple days later.

Now, I used to be a God-loving man. Having been initiated into the Catholic faith and raised to believe that there was an Almighty spirit always looking after me and whatnot. I believed my mama when she said things were going to turn around. By saying my 'hail Marys' and accepting the seven sacraments, I really believed our path would be clear of any more roadblocks. She was strong in her faith despite everything, almost to the point of becoming a saint herself. That woman had fire. Had heart.

Then she got diabetes. As the years progressed, I watched in silence as the disease started to slowly eat away at her precious life. With no money to pay for health care, dialysis, and proper medication, everything went downhill when the doctors amputated her foot, which was originally caused by a minor cut that had become infected. The entire leg went after that and the infection continued to spread like wildfire. She only lasted a couple weeks after that.

Lotta pricks don't take this disease as serious as AIDS. They also don't feel bad pointing the finger right back at the person with the disease. They all assume diabetic folks are just fat, lazy slobs who eat themselves to death. Whatever comes from the disease is entirely their fault. Fucking pricks. The fuck do they know.

When mama passed away I decided to steer clear of any illusions of a holy spirit capable of blessing all those who believed. Maybe there's an ounce of faith somewhere in me yet but I've exhausted myself in finding it. Faith didn't save my mamma or brother. It might not even save myself.

Okay, enough of that. I don't want to make this journal into a soapbox or anything sissy like that. I'll move on, Mars.

Despite some rough times in school I eventually grew up and became a cop. Yeah. I know. I sometimes find that hard to believe myself. At the time I made the decision it was out of sheer obligation towards my mamma. I wanted to make her proud. But cops don't get paid much as I soon discovered, especially when you consider how many times your ass is on the line. Now I'm going to admit, seeing as this is my personal journal and I'm free to expose whatever was in my nature at the time, that this wasn't the life I wanted. Sure, being a cop put food on the table and the bills got paid. Still, I wasn't looking forward to living the rest of my young years in a mediocre home with mediocre clothes on. I wanted things that only hard cash could buy. Cars. Suits. Women. The works. Let's face it, we live in a material world. No one gives a rat's ass about a cop. They really want to hear about the new celebrity split or next available millionaire-dollar bachelor. Why dwell over a gang bust when you could be tuning in to see the tits of a singer celeb suffering from a 'wardrobe malfunction?'

So yeah, I'll admit to you, Mars, I handle 'other' jobs. The type of jobs looked down upon with a frown. People consider them 'corrupt but hey, we already live in a corrupt world. Nothing I do will ever change that. And no one should judge me until they've judged themselves. You'd be surprised how many hypocrites we got living among us. Am I right? Am I right? Of course I am, damn it. I mean, take all those people who want to stop porn. The way I see it, they're just jealous that they can't tap that ass or at least watch it because of their wives. So what do they do? Come up with some legislation crap that restricts people from viewing of it. Because if they can't have that ass then no one can. You know what I mean? Sure you do, Mars. That's how we tick tock.

In my opinion, this world only wears two types of _pantalones_: slacks and jeans. Those wearing the jeans are the ones working their asses off but ain't seeing much cash flow. On the other hand, the ones with the slacks get to have it all and not put their backs into it. They got the world at their feet. Anyone who says they'd rather be wearing jeans is either too naive for their own good or needs to accept the world as it is. I've already made up my mind and I'm aiming to have my slacks fitted into me.

I didn't stay low for too long. Sure, I made a lotta friends and connections but I didn't like the hours. Being paid as an honest man will cover just as much as food stamps do. I also didn't like being the go-to-guy. The grunt. Anytime some _pendejo_ needed supplies they came to me and paid me only half of what a middleman got. No, I moved on and ranked up, becoming a Lieutenant and doing criminal investigation work. The irony, eh?

Nowadays I get more control over my work and better privileges. I've also gained respect from both my colleagues and contacts. Right now I'm in the position I want to be in. On the front, I am a respectable detective serving justice the American way. I pay my taxes. Recycle my cans. I even go to schools on career day, talking about how utterly 'wonderful' it is to be a detective and to stay in school. Or some crap like that. On the sidelines, though, I'm guaranteed a spot when major scores come into play. So far, my contacts have helped pay for this lovely house in Sharontin street I've always wanted as a kid.

I'm not worried about getting snitched on. I've got my back covered because several people in the Force, from squad section, narcotics, to even top guys, are in the same situation I'm in. We look after each other. It's almost like a Brotherhood here. We respect each other. I mean, we're all trying to earn a good living,. Nothing wrong with that. I don't care what my partner says. Even my ex-partner was a saint wannabe.

Ah, Frankie. The poster boy. Still thinks the world spins with innocence. And yet, there's a very blurry line between innocence and being just naive.

I haven't seen Frankie for awhile now. He used to be my partner years back before Nate took his spot. The man was an interesting fellow, I'll say that. He was around my age but was already talking like an old man past his prime. All this talk about family and shit, and being morally content. Whatever. The sooner he accepts reality the sooner he can get a piece of the action. He won't have to worry about taking out loans to get his kids into college. The poor guy's already got enough on his plate. Not just with the mortgage but with his wife, who's a major _puta_ and thinks he's a pushover. She's banged almost the entire Force minus the Chief and the women. I even tapped some of that ass myself, but that's between you and me, Mars. Anyway, I've been thinking of calling him up for a drink, for old time's sake, but I hear he's busy on a crazy case. Speaking of which...

Like I said, Frankie is an interesting fellow. Sure, he talks like an old man and all. He nags about the corruption in the Force. Gripes about the gas prices and global warming. Wonders what type of people his kids are going to grow up to be. But that boy definitely has an odd streak. He's really into the supernatural. Ghosts. Witches. Vampires. Cannibals. Demons. You name it. Anything out of the ordinary and he is all over it like flies on shit. I think he's fucking nuts but he insists it's just an innocent hobby he picked up during his teenage years.

Every night we went on patrol he'd tell me some rowdy stories. He often talked about a man in a red trench coat who, in his own words, was a devil. Even though he never met the Devil Man, which he preferred calling him, Frankie said there were cases that reported seeing a mysterious man. According to them, Devil Man wore a red coat, carried a huge sword, had scary eyes, and could fly. I haven't read any of those reports myself but I can smell bullshit a mile away. Still, Frankie told me he'd find Devil Man someday. It was his destiny. Yeah. Whatever.

I guess this about does it, Mars. Time to write off. I'll probably contact Frankie soon. Check up on him. I can't help but to feel sorry for him. He won't accept the world as it truly is. Sure I may be a no-good-for-nothing son-of-a-bitch who's willing to sell his soul for a decent life, but hey, at least I live in the real world. I don't live in la-la land with devils dressed in red trench coats. Who's kidding who?

**- Roark**

**Author: Some philosophy he lives by, huh? Can being brutally honest and self-centered be too much? We'll see. Anywho, next chapter: Roark's Day 1.**


	3. Roark's Day 1: The Ball's In His Court

**Author's Note** – Thanks for tuning in guys! Basically, this is the setup I was referring to. Each 'chapter' opens with an entry first, then the character's side of the day. That doesn't mean everything will be told from their view, though, since there'll be events that'll take place in their neck of the woods included too. Like at the end of this chapter. In the future I'll have all three entries (Roark, Dante, and Pandora) posted up simultaneously so you guys can choose which 'path' to read first, as my story is pretty flexible. Right now though, I'm checking over the other entries for grammar and spelling mistakes. The boring stuff. Anyway, enjoy!

** Roark's Day 1 – The Ball's on His Court **

The sky was painted bright blue by the time Roark arrived in front of the Chicago Police Department building, a cigarette in hand. The other hand, tucked smugly in his pant's pocket. Lean and tall, he looked too young and well polished to be a Lieutenant serving the force. Specifically in the Criminal Investigation Unit. His glass brown shoes were easily worth one thousand g's. Likewise, the dark gray suit he wore. The crimson expensive shirt he had beneath it was worn loosely, exposing his neck and a bit of collar bone. The wavy and thick black hair that mopped over his head was slicked backed, fully revealing a youthful face. He was clean shaven, right down to his skin's pores. Even his sideburns were evenly cut and lined crisply to complement the length of his face. From a distant, he looked like a suave man, too consumed by his ego to be taken seriously. His cinder-colored eyes, however, revealed another story. Unfortunately, no one would know that since dark sunglasses were always present, preventing any inner secrets from getting out.

Roark gazed up at the tanned brown four-storied building. Its simple Italian Gothic style structure stood firm, intimidating bystanders. He looked at while longer before turning his attention to his watch, a small smile soon forming in his lips. He took a long drag from his cigarette before finally stubbing it out. Walking up the steps leading to wide double doors Roark entered the building and was immediately greeted by the receptionist.

"Uh, good afternoon, Lieutenant Esperanza!" the man behind the desk said. He smiled. However, there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.

Roark approached the metal detectors left of the main desk. There was another officer there, eyelids heavy with sleep. Roark pulled out his glock pistol and any other metal objects he had on him, giving them to officer.

"Afternoon, Hicks," Roark answered evenly, passing through the metal detector. "Rough night, eh? How're the kids?"

"Oh, they're good. They're finally leaving for college. Thank Buddha." Hicks yawned.

"See last night's game, Drake?" Roark asked the man behind the desk.

"Yeah. Damn Lakers," Drake replied bitterly and then paused.

Roark looked at him and half-way smiled. "So the Chief wants to see me right now, huh?"

Drake raised his eyebrows. "Y-yeah. I mean, yes-yes, sir. How... did you know, sir?"

Roark shrugged. "Lucky guess."

Lt Esperanza collected his things from Hicks, giving him a nod before casually navigating his way to the hallway's elevators. Hands in pocket. When the elevator arrived and opened its doors he clicked on the second floor button and waited. The moment the elevator's doors opened again the scene before him was like an enactment of Judgment Day. Everything was chaotic, filled with escalating voices and nonstop motion.

The level of noise and moving bodies was typical for a Monday afternoon. Those scuffling through the busy hallways to get to their destinations had to step aside as incoming officers arrived with arrested civilians. Fresh off the street, every one of them was ready to talk up a storm. Rookies quickly made their way out to the city, ready for patrol. Errand boys worked up a sweat as they ran back and forth, delivering papers and letters. Everything was just buzzing with life.

Roark walked into the lounge area to his right and prepared some coffee for himself. It didn't take long for a colleague to storm in after him.

"Geez, Roark," a young man with the complexion of ivory soap spat, "I bet you were late when coming outta your mother too. This is the _fifth time_ you've left me out to roast, man."

He was as tall as Roark but possessed more upper body strength, as indicated by his very broad shoulders. Still, the muscular appearance seemed to clash with the rest of him. His brown suit was a bit wrinkled and there were dark circles around his twinkling eyes, as if he had just come from a hangover. There were small specks of freckles present, creating a collage of neutral colors in his face. His dusty blond hair was trimmed short, but seemed all over the place.

Nathan Peterson was usually a cheerful fellow and was always ready for some after-hours time. But today he obviously woke up on the bad side of the bed.

"Sue me, Nate," Roark finally replied and licked his lips. He took a sip of his coffee and made a frown. "Tastes like shit. When is this hellhole ever getting a decent coffee maker?"

"Worry about your job than the coffee," Nathan continued, "The Chief is fuming so much right now that smoke seems to be coming outta his office. Get your act together or I'll be ordering my next cheeseburger and fries from you next week."

"Why, I didn't know you cared," Roark answered mockingly.

"I don't. But your attitude and behavior reflects off of me too. The Chief thinks _I _might even be a part of the problem." Nate stopped and sighed. "Honestly, man, this is your fifth time being late. I don't think number six will be a lucky number for you very soon."

"Ask me if I care." Roark rolled his eyes. Then started heading out of the lounge with his cup of coffee. "Besides, I had an important matter to attend to this morning."

"Like what?" Nate asked, walking beside him.

"Remember the broad at the club we saw last night?"

Nate's eyes widened and he laughed. "You didn't…"

Roark gave a devilish grin. "She wasn't kidding about being a former gymnast."

"Whoa…" Nate said, thrilled. However, he frowned the moment he took a glimpse of a gold ring wrapped around one of Roark's fingers.

Roark noticed the look. "Don't give me any of that _infidelity_ crap again, Nate. Sure, I know I've got a wife. And yes, she's pregnant. Hell, I banged two other women and they're all still hassling me for child support. Whatever. I got my own needs too. My own personal life."

Roark took another sip of his coffee.

It was true. It wouldn't be the first time he got a woman pregnant. Many of them demanded child support. Lucky for him, however, they were all drug addicts. Prostitutes. Call girls. He could deny the children were his because it was their word against his. A cop's word. In addition, because they've had so many sexual partners prior to him he could easily dismiss himself. Even if blood tests confirmed him as the biological father his connections to several doctors and judges would assure the courts otherwise. It was a no-brainer who was the winner in this case scenario. He could have as many women as he wanted and still get away with it. Who'd stop him anyway?

There was one thing that bothered him, though. If women were nothing more than sexual play dolls for him, then why'd he marry Rosa? Rosa had five more weeks left to her pregnancy but he had more than enough time to bail out. Still, they married once she discovered the growing baby in her womb. He could've thrown her to the wolves along with the others. She was just a stripper when they met after all. It couldn't have been for convenience either. Rosa's former occupation, if leaked to the public, might ruin his _good public image_. Then why? Was it love?

"Aren't you being a little... cold?" Nate asked quietly.

"Maybe I am." He shrugged. "But at least I'm honest. The world could use more honest people. It wouldn't have so many Goddamn hypocrites running around. Besides, this is my problem. Not yours."

"Whatever you say, Roark..."

The walk to the Chief's office was quiet the rest of the way. When they finally arrived at the end of a hallway, they stopped in front of a frosted covered glass door. The words 'Chief of Department Daniel Roberts' were imprinted boldly. Even the strong lines and curves of the letters appeared angry somehow. Roark removed his sunglasses while Nate quickly moved to the side.

"Good luck." Nate smiled, trying to stifle a chuckle.

Roark ignored him and instead, knocked on the door.

"That'd better be Lt. Esperanza and not the mailman," a stern voice said from the other side.

Roark just rolled his eyes while Nate covered his mouth, now more than ever wanting to laugh his ass off. Roark opened the door and entered the Chief's office.

"Glad you could finally join us, Lieutenant," Chief Roberts said calmly. "For a moment, I thought I'd have to call the morgue people to see if they might've stumbled across your sorry ass body there."

The Chief of Department was currently looking out the window, back facing Lt. Esperanza. Even if he couldn't see his face, Roark knew the Chief's current mood. A proud and stern black man who was once a first class Sergeant in the Marine Corps, Chief Roberts was not a man to fuck with. He might be pushing into his late 50's now, but his balls remained as cold as ever. They could easily break off. Getting on his bad side meant hell for the miserable bastard crazy enough to take him on. He was notorious for making grown men cry, reduced to a blubbering mess. Even the other Districts were scared of him. Rookie cops did their best to avoid being assigned to the 18th District.

If not for his connections, Roark would be... concerned. In fact, he tried many times to use those connections to reassign Chief Roberts to another department or District. But even his contacts, men from high places, said it wouldn't be possible until next year. Until then, he had to hold out and avoid getting bitten by the hound from hell. Fucking tenure...

"I make no excuses," Roark started, standing in front of the Chief's desk. "I'll do whatever is necessary to make amends."

The Chief was quiet. He didn't turn around. Yell. Fling an object from his desk and smash the glass door like he did last time. He was quiet. A little _too_ quiet, in fact.

Roark waited for the Chief to say something but he didn't. He just kept staring outside the window. His lean muscular arms, concealed with a white striped shirt, were crossed behind him. The long band holstering his out-dated pistol was the only visible thing Roark could see. It too remained as still as a statue since the Chief didn't budge even a centimeter. After what seemed like an eternity, Roark piped up again. He tried his damn best to keep his voice even despite the tension building.

"Sir, I realize how frustrated you must be. This won't happen again, I assure you."

"You like basketball?" Chief Roberts suddenly asked, still staring outside the window.

"Sir?"

"What's the matter? You deaf?" He spat. "I asked you if you liked basketball."

Roark blinked. "Yes. I do."

The Chief finally turned around. Reflections danced all over his shiny bald head. His eyes were so large, they seemed like they could see an object galaxies away. Roark fully understood how some of men had wet their pants when they stared deep into them. He must've been a descendant of the tyrannosaurus-rex to have eyes like those. That thick black moustache of his didn't make him look any friendlier either.

Without another word, Chief Roberts went to his desk. He took something as small as a grapefruit out from the bottom draw. It was orange and round. A basketball.

"I'm a big fan," Chief Roberts said as he tossed the small basketball from one hand and into the other. Then repeated this pattern as the conversation resumed. "My son loves it too. He's been a basketball player since Elementary school. This is his last year. He's a senior, you see."

The Chief walked back towards the window and looked out. Even though the conversation seemed very casual Roark knew better. In fact, these were the kinds of talks that sent cops scurrying to a corner, promising to never come out. One guy nearly shot the Chief out of fear.

"His last game is next month," Chief Roberts continued calmly, "He's excited because many scouts have taken a liking to him. Who knows, he might even make pro. But I already warned that son-of-a-bitch to go to college first before taking the fast road. Education is top priority."

The Chief looked back at Roark, noting the uneasiness in his face. He stopped tossing the small basketball between his hands, for a moment. Then decided to prop open the window. He leaned casually against the window's sill, keeping his focus on the Lieutenant. He resumed tossing the ball back and forth, from one hand to the next.

"If you love basketball then you should know all about the rules," spoke the Chief. "You'd also know that basketball is a group effort. When one player doesn't contribute it affects the team during crunch time. So when that player screws up by acting like a Kobe Byrant, he doesn't just hurt one individual. He hurts everyone around him too. Do you understand?"

Roark nodded.

"So then you know that any bullshit you say, about you wanting to make amends to me, doesn't really matter, right?" Chief Roberts gave Roark a stiff look. "I'm not that important. I'm just the coach barking orders to you. But your team. They certainly are vital to the game's success. They're the ones you should be kissing ass to. Don't you think?"

Roark stood silent. The Chief carefully studied his face. He waited a minute. Then, unexpectedly, he threw the small basketball out the window. Nearly causing a car crash below.

"The ball's in your court, son," the older man said, then commanded. "Now have a seat."

He sat behind his desk and patiently waited for Roark to comply. As Roark did, Chief Roberts opened his drawer and took out a folder.

"How's your case coming along, Lieutenant?" Chief Roberts asked without looking at him. Instead, scanning the folder's contents.

"Wonderful, Chief," Roark answered, grateful for the change of subject. "Lieutenant Peterson and I have just about wrapped it up. We got solid evidence to connect the case to our suspect. All we need now is the warrant for his arrest. Then we're done."

"That's good to hear. Because I have a new case for you."

Roark waited for more details.

"Even more interesting," the Chief continued, "It was an anonymous source that specifically requested you take it."

"Sir?" Roark frowned.

"Personally, I've always had trouble trusting anonymous persons," Chief Roberts resumed, ignoring the face Roark made. "You just don't know if what they're saying is the truth or if they're actually the responsible parties. This one also has the nerve to tell me who should take this case. He could be a garbage collector for all I know. Still, I'll make an exception to this one because it was the guys high up that shoved this case up the department's ass. I'll never understand 'em sometimes."

He seemed to notice something in one of the folder's pages and took a moment to observe it.

"I'm curious as to why this person asked for you though," he murmured with a frown. "There's nothing special about you. You're not even a descent criminal investigator."

Roark narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

"Perhaps you can answer that question someday." The Chief looked up from the folder, staring at him in silence. After another decade, he finally closed the folder and handed to Roark. "I got to warn you, it's a rather _unusual_ case. Normally, I'd have Sergeant Reese take this since he's into this kind of thing. But he's busy cracking down another nut job."

Roark frowned. Frankie?

"Look over it when you have the chance." The Chief sat back. "That'll be all, Lieutenant."

Chief Roberts turned his oversized leather seat around to face the window. Roark stood up, tucking the folder under his arm with a puzzled look.

Strange, if this is a case Sgt. Reese would normally take then it must be one of those weird, freaky ones. Why give it him? He's never been into this sort of thing. Who's bright idea was it to tag him along? It's not like he's an expert. Still, how weird can this case be if it was delivered specifically to him?

As Roark was about to exit the office, Chief Roberts called out to him one last time.

"Lieutenant," he began softly, still sitting in his cushy leather seat and looking out the window. "That was my favorite basketball I just threw out. When I said the ball was in your court I literally meant it. You have 'til four o' clock to get my ball back here. Otherwise, collect your things."

For a second, Roark thought it was a joke. But the Chief was dead serious.

** Suburbs **

It was eight in the evening and a family of four was gathered around a table eating dinner. The moon's eye peered silently though a window. A television filled the air with its incoherent sound, currently on a family-oriented channel. Two young boys were currently engaged in a sibling battle, flinging bundles of green peas at each other. It quickly garnered a reaction from their mother. As she scolded them her husband looked at his plate in silence.

He was a mature man, pushing into his late fifties with gray white hair and sporting strong features despite his age. Around the dining room were pictures and medals from his time in the Army service, including a purple heart. His clear hazel eyes continued gazing at the plate in front of him.

"I mean it," the mother said to her children, "If you don't stop this I'm sending both of you to bed, with no cake."

"But mom-!" one of them started.

"Not another word. Eat your food."

The two boys sighed and rolled their eyes, eventually picking at their food instead of eating it. There was another scold from their mother who soon turned to her husband for backup.

"Eric, tell your sons to eat their food," she told him. "I'm getting tired of this."

He slowly looked up from his plate. For a long time, he didn't say anything and there was a blank look on his face. Before his wife could open her mouth, he smiled.

"It was a wonderful day today, wasn't it?" he said calmly. "It was sunny outside."

His wife frowned. "Honey? Oh. Yes. I guess it was."

"It never occurred to me before. I never really took it all in. But I guess that's what happens when you can't see everything so clearly."

The two young boys studied their father quizzically for a moment.

"Mom, can I have dessert now?" one whined, "I already ate my food."

"No, you didn't. You haven't even touched your meatloaf."

"But mom, I don't want it anymore. I'm full. Honest."

"Yeah. Right," she replied. Unconvinced. "Fine. No dessert for you then."

"But mom-!"

"Isn't it funny," the father began again, "that we live our lives so meaninglessly, without any knowledge of where it's going to lead?"

His wife paused. "Honey, are you okay? You sound… funny."

He laughed. "Why wouldn't I be? I feel wonderful. In fact… I've never been better."

"Mom," the second son added in a high-pitched voice, "Jason is hitting me."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"That's enough," the mother commanded. "I'm not going to tell you again."

"We live such trivial lives…" continued the father. "… Never comprehending our own importance or existence. Or how great our contribution to the universe really is."

"Eric… Are you sure you're okay? You sound weird."

"_Eric_," the husband said carefully, his hazel eyes penetrating the food again. "That name… it has no meaning to me. I have no name."

His wife was now silent, even his two sons stopped bickering. Their father slowly pushed away from his table, standing up.

"Where are you going?" his wife asked.

"I've got to take out the trash." He smiled. "Dinner was great, by the way."

He planted a kiss on his wife's cheek before walking down the hallway across the dining room with his plate. The remaining three occupants continued eating.

"How was school, Alex?" the mother asked her children.

"It was okay." He shrugged.

"And you, Jason?"

"Boring. Like always."

Shortly later, Eric returned to the hallway with a trash bag in his hand. The three heard him go outside, the sound of his boots clanked softly against the wooden floor. He started to whistle a merry tune that soon faded away as a door opened and closed.

"How did you do in your math test, by the way?" she addressed Jason, soon chewing on some of her meatloaf.

"Dunno. Teacher still hasn't told us."

"Well, tell me what you got when she tells you your grade. I want to know if that tutor of yours is worth the money."

"I don't like him. He smells bad."

"Just because he smells bad doesn't make him a bad person."

"My gym teacher smells bad," Alex added and giggled. "He smells like armpits."

"Alex, we're eating," his mother replied sternly.

Moments passed and Eric walked down the hallway again. He was still whistling merrily. His feet echoed with a muffled sound as they ascended upstairs.

"Hey, mom," Alex started, "Benny invited me to his birthday party this weekend. Can I go? Huh? Can I? Everyone's going to be there."

"We'll see."

"But mom-"

"No buts, Alex. I've heard of enough _buts_ to last me a lifetime. You're still being punished for last week's incident in case you forgot."

"But dad forgave me already."

"No, he didn't. Now finish your meal. I'll think about it."

"But mom…"

"I already told you what I thought about those _buts_."

Alex slouched in his chair when he saw his efforts were meaningless. He sighed and subsided with a big pout on his face, hoping for one last shot. His mother pretended not to notice and kept eating. Meanwhile, Eric passed the hallway again. His wife looked up from her plate and blinked at the object in his hands now.

"Eric," his wife called to him and laughed. "Where are you going with that thing?"

He grinned and tapped the head of a shotgun on his shoulder. "Honey, I already told you. I don't have a name. Now go finish your dinner. This will only take a second."

His wife frowned but he continued walking down the hallway. A door to the house's basement opened and closed quietly. His wife and their two children continued eating. Only the sound of the television was heard. After finishing the meatloaf the mother lifted up her glass of water to take a sip of it. The glass shattered on the floor immediately, however, after the house shook with a loud bang.

It came from the basement.

**Author: Man, I'd hate to be eating dinner at that house. Oo Anywho, so you probably figured out how much Roark is a jerk. A guy he cheats and doesn't care much but himself has to be, lol. He thinks life is cozy and sweet now but his next entry might suggest that his new case will prove otherwise. Next chapter: Online Chatroom Session 1**


	4. Online Chatroom Session 1

**Author's Note** – Howdy guys! Well, these 'chatroom sessions have been my personal favorite part of writing this story. I was inspired by my obsessions concerning if Dante were actually real in our world and what sources he'd use if he actually ran his Devil May Cry business. I tried to keep it as authentic to a chatroom as I can so bear with the 'chaos', lol. And yes, 'devilmansgirlfriend' is my reference to all those damn Dante fangirls who take it too seriously and ruin it for the rest of us fans. You know who you are. I had a similar experience with this at another 'fanclub' dealing with a different character and it just drove me nuts. Here's to all you stuck up, crazy btches who can't take a joke and treat it like an actual religion.

Online Chatroom Session 1

**4evermadman**: Where's devilman? He in yet?

**Sworddude3156**: (looks around) Nope. Haven't seen him in this century. Probably busy.

**4evermadman**: Busy bee. That's what he is.

**ParanoidGir**l: Maybe tonight we'll get lucky.

**Sworddude3156**: If we're lucky. Doubt it though. Anyone check out those freaky ghost pics he posted up yesterday, at the paranormal section? Talk about awesome.

**4evermadman**: I did! Man, being a paranormal investigator must be cool. Studying ghosts, witches, demons... My favorite is his report on Ouija boards. Makes me wanna try it out, lol.

**ParanoidGir**l: I saw those ghost pics! My friend who's an expert in digital manipulation tried to duplicate the photos. He said it was impossible! Oo

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Spooky as hell. Though they're nowhere near as scary as that video footage he shot. That demon's corpse looked really real.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: God, I heard devilman looks hot. He sounds so sexy in the videos and voice recorders! I want to see him! I want to marry him!

**Sworddude3156**: ...

**4evermadman**: Oh yeah, I remember that footage! I laughed when he kept kicking at its balls! Shame we couldn't catch devilman's face on the video though. Wonder who the cameraman was...

**Sworddude3156**: Ah, devilman. Elusive as always.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: devilman must be steaming hot.

**ParanoidGir**l: Hey, disturbed, didn't you send me an email today, saying you got some juicy info to share with us?

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Yeah. But you guys gotta promise to keep it among ourselves. Don't go running your mouth. I need your word on this.

**Sworddude3156**: You got it.

**4evermadman**: Your secret is safe with me.

**ParanoidGir**l: Mum's the word.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: I'll keep my lips shut if it has anything to do with my devilman.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Okay. Here goes. There's a rumor going around that devilman is actually throwing a party at his place. And some people from this very site have been invited to it.

**4evermadman**: What!?!?!?!?!?! Oo

**Sworddude3156**: Probably just a rumor.

**ParanoidGirl**: Really? That'd be awesome! You know who's invited? Where's it?

**devilmansgirlfriend**: OMIGOD!!!!!!!!! (screams and dances) Where?!?! WHERE?!?!?!

**Sworddude3156**: Get a grip guys. It's probably just a rumor.

**_2cool4school_** _has entered Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**2cool4school**: Hey guys. What's up? Anyone know the scoop on devilman? He hasn't showed up here lately. His latest ghost pics are freaking awesome. Anyone see 'em yet?

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: I don't think it's a rumor. An online friend of mine got an invite. That's what he said, at least.

**4evermadman**: It'd be cool if this was legit.

**Sworddude3156**: Hey 2cool4school. What's up? No, he hasn't been in for a long time.

**ParanoidGirl**: Really, disturbed? He got his invitation through an email or what?

**devilmansgirlfriend**: God, I want to be invited! I want to be invited!!!! Please devilman! Invite me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN!!!

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Hey guys, remember, keep your mouth shut.

**ParanoidGirl**: No worries here, disturbed.

**4evermadman**: Yeah. (wedges mouth shut)

**2cool4school**: Whoa, what's this about a party? Hey Sword. :-)

**devilmansgirlfriend**: devilman is throwing a party!!!! And he's inviting people from this site!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, I hope I get invited!

**Sworddude3156**: Cool it, girlfriend. Remember our promise. Yo, 2cool4school, we just promised disturbed here that we wouldn't be telling everyone about this party. Besides, I don't even know if it's true.

**2cool4school**: Your secret is safe with me.

**ParanoidGirl**: Tell us more, disturbed. Is he giving everyone here an invitation?

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Don't think so. According to my friend he was given a special password. Other than that, he didn't tell me anything else. Not even the password itself.

**4evermadman**: Some friend...

**ParanoidGirl**: He must be close to devilman himself to get an invite.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Maybe, I don't know. He's kept his mouth shut every time I ask him if he knows devilman in real life.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: devilman is sooooooo mysterious! He's so HOT!!!!

**_fornicate4ever_** _has entered Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**fornicate4ever**: Have trouble getting it up? Visit us online at and receive a special discount for all our products.

**_fornicate4ever_** _has exited Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**4evermadman**: Are you for real, disturbed? Oo

**Sworddude3156**: Sorry, but this smells like shit. I think your 'friend' is just jerking you around.

**ParanoidGirl**: Maybe we should email Punky about this. I definitely want to get invited to this party if there really is one.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: I don't know why my friend would lie to me. I think he's telling me the truth. Still, if he isn't I'm gonna kick his ass.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: MASTER! MASTER! Where are you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my love?!?! I love you devilman

**2cool4school**: Whoa, I bet devilman's got a killer house. Cemetary in the back. Gothic-type of gate. House probably covered in skeletons and demon heads. Probably dresses up like the Undertaker. Sweet... You guys check out his gallery section, by the way? Freaky!

**Sworddude3156**: I think you're right, Paranoid. We should email Punky. If this is a rumor then I'm sure she'll want to know about it so she can post it on the site to clarify things.

**2cool4school**: Special password. Whoa. I heard you also need a password to access a secret part of his website. Wonder what makes it so secretive.

**4evermadman**: The whole password thing is so mysterious. I wonder how long you have to be an active member to get one. I wonder what's in the secret section of the site.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Where are you devilman?!?! Please! Invite me!

**4evermadman**: Hey disturbed, isn't this the same guy you said who actually saw devilman?

**Sworddude3156**: Something's always been bothering me. Don't get me wrong. I respect devilman. He's got a killer sword collecton. Still, what's up with this password business?

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Yeah. Though, like I said earlier, he never goes into detail about it. He says he made a promise to devilman to keep his mouth shut. Wonder why.

**ParanoidGirl**: I'm emailing Punky right now guys. Gotta get to the bottom of this.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: God, I want to be invited! Please devilman! Invite me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**4evermadman**: I wonder why he's gotta keep his mouth shut.

**2cool4school**: I want to know what's in the secret section of the website. I mean, where's the login access to it. It's usually at the bottom of the main page.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Ooooh, devilman is sooooo mysterious!

**Sworddude3156**: I'm telling ya, devilman's got some ghosts in his closet but I don't care if he's a nut job. He's cool. That sword collection… I'm getting an orgasm just thinking about it.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: I tried hacking into the website to check out the restricted section. Punky is one smart computer bitch. Got the site covered inside out.

**2cool4school**: Yeah. That's why she's the webmaster. I wonder if she's hot.

**4evermadman**: LOL, her and devilman must be getting it on every night. (moans) Probably ain't here 'cause he's getting some ass as we speak. (o) Yummy...

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: LOL. (o)

**devilmansgirlfriend**: NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! You better take that back! Only I can have devilman! 

**Sworddude3156**: Hey Paranoid, you send that email yet?

**4evermadman**: Oh give it a rest, girlfriend. devilman wouldn't want a Mary Sue crashing his party anyway.

**2cool4school**: Man, it'd be cool if devilman was really having a party and inviting people. Party of the millennium. I think he should invite me. I really want to see what he's like.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Whatever. I love devilman. Stop making fun of him. (continues looking for her master) Oh devilman! Where are you my love?!

**ParanoidGirl**: Okay, guys. I sent the email. Hopefully Punky will read it and resolve this matter. Might take awhile since she's been M.I.A. for awhile too.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Awesome. Now I can see if my buddy is legit or full of hot air.

**4evermadman**: Cool. I'm wondering why they're both not here. (fearful of another wrath from devilmansgirlfriend, so refrains from supporting his theory)

**Sworddude3156**: Punky's been updating the site lately so that's probably why she ain't here. Besides, she's got a life. Unlike us, lol.

**4evermadman**: It's been many weeks since I chatted with devilman. Well, I wouldn't really say we chatted. More of a 'hello, you're freakin' cool' and then 'goodbye.'

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Yeah, devilman usually comes and go. Must be busy. Still, every time he's here it's like a freakin' Elvis Presley sighting.

**2cool4school**: LOL.

**4evermadman**: ROTFLMAO. Yeah. "Ladies and gentlemen, the King has left the building."

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Bow to the King!

**Sworddude3156**: Bwuahahahahahaha!

**ParanoidGirl**: I wonder if Punky can hook us up with an invitation if this turns out to be true.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: That'd be sweet.

**Sworddude3156**: Sadly, if this turns out to be true, devilman will probably only invite his friends and more 'important' people. Not us common folks.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Speak for yourself. I know I'm getting an invite! I just know it! devilman!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**2cool4school**: Why wouldn't he invite us? We're the ones keeping the seat warm for him here every time he's away.

**4evermadman**: Yeah. I'm the one supplying his beer. LOL.

**ParanoidGirl**: Maybe if we send emails to Punky for an invitation he might cut us some slack?

**Sworddude3156**: I wouldn't hold my breath. Let's face it, the guy is 'too cool for school.'

**4evermadman**: ROTFLMAO. Good one Voodoo!

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: LOL.

**2cool4school**: 

**4evermadman**: Wouldn't it be funny if devilman was just some 90 year old guy living off his parents? Playing online games 24/7 with no real life? LOL Oops! Hope he didn't read that!

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Or maybe he's actually a woman? Or cross-dresses like one??? Oo

**Sworddude3156**: Must be why he's never posted a picture of himself yet, lol.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: STOP IT!!! DON'T SAY THAT!!! STOP MAKING FUN OF DEVILMAN!!!!!!! 

**4evermadman**: ... Sorry. (lowers head in shame)

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: ...

**Sworddude3156**: Cool off. No harm done.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Just stop making fun of him. He demands our respect.

**Sworddude3156**: This is what you call a sense of humor. Go buy one for yourself. It'll make life a lot easy for you.

**ParanoidGirl**: LOL, gotta admit. That was damn funny.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: SHUT UP! You call yourselves devilman's fans but you make fun of him! Bet you wouldn't be like this if he were here. 

**2cool4school**: Sheesh, some people are a little serious here.

**4evermadman**: I already said I'm sorry.

**Sworddude3156**: Whatever, girlfriend. At least I'm keeping it real. Who the hell made you monitor here anyway? 'Sides, I'm sure devilman has a sense of humor.

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: You fangirls can be a little too much sometimes, you know.

**ParanoidGirl**: We love devilman girlfriend but we're just having fun here. Don't take offense.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: I don't! But I'm sure devilman does! 

**Sworddude3156**: Jesus. I'm about to blow a fuse...

**_PunkyGirlGotGame_** _has entered Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**_Guest302_** _has entered Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**PunkyGirlGotGame**: Yo, girlies.

**Guest302**: Hey guys and gals.

**ParanoidGirl**: Punky! Wow! You're here!

**4evermadman**: AWESOME! The Queen has returned!

**Seriouslydisturbed666**: Hey Punky. Evening Guest.

**ParanoidGirl**: Hi, Guest, Welcome!

**2cool4school**: PUNKY!!!!!! Hey Guest too! What's shaking you two?

**Sworddude3156**: (bows) Welcome, my lady. Welcome unknown. Excuse the girl here. You'll know which one I'm talking about.

**devilsmansgirlfriend**: Whoo-hoo! Punky!!! How's it going? Know where devilman is hiding?

**devilsmansgirlfriend**: PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEEE INVITE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Sworddude3156**: Yeah. That's the one. .

**Guest302**: ...

**2cool4school**: Yeah. Where is devil man?

**PunkyGirlGotGame**: Knew you maggots were gonna ask me that.

**ParanoidGirl**: Tell us about that party. Is it true?

**Guest302**: Party? You guys know about a party?

**devilsmansgirlfriend**: You guys shouldn't be asking for devilman's whereabouts. Traitors. Punky! Please invite me! PLEEEEAAAASSSSSSEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

**2cool4school**: Out with it then Punky. Don't keep us in suspense!

**PunkyGirlGotGame**: But sweets… suspense is half the fun.

**4evermadman**: Guest, word's on the street that devilman is hosting the party of the century. But we don't know if it's true so mum's the word.

**Guest302**: Really? What else do you know about it?

**Sworddude3156**: Oooh, you're lethal Punky. Ouch.

**4evermadman**: Just that u need a secret password. That's about it. Disturb's the one who told us.

**ParanoidGirl**: Hey, disturbed, did you get my email this morning, btw?

**4evermadman**: C'mon Punky! We need to know.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEEE invite me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**ParanoidGirl**: Man, that's annoying.

**Guest302**: ...

**4evermadman**: Yeah, quit it.

**2cool4school**: Punky, c'mon. Is it true or what? And where's the big guy? Doesn't wanna chat with us lowly folks, huh:-(

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Shut up, a minute ago you were taking turns making fun of devilman. Now you're trying to play nice because Punky is here. Did you know that Punky? Tell devilman he has a buncha two-sided people here that are making fun of him.

**Sworddude3156**: Damn girl, let it GO.

**Guest302**: Making fun of devilman? Oo

**4evermadman**: Yeah, but I was just goofing off. I didn't mean it. And I already said I'm sorry.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Yes, they were making fun of devilman. 

**ParanoidGirl**: Seriously, I didn't think it was that big of a deal. It was funny.

**2cool4school**: It was all in good fun, girlfriend. Forget about it.

**Guest302**: Okay, now I'm dying to know about this:-D

**Sworddude3156**: If you must know guest, we were just wondering who devilman really was. 4evermadman said he might be a 90 year old guy living off his parents while disturb said he might actually be a woman.

**Guest302**: Bwuahahahahahahahahahaha! (thinks he just shitted on himself)

**Sworddude3156**: Cool, we got another one with a sense of humor. Someone give him a Pepsi.

**Guest302**: Screw a Pepsi. Give me a damn beer, kid.

**Sworddude3156**: My kinda guy.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: There you guys go again. Making fun of devilman... 

**2cool4school**: Good grief. Here YOU go again.

**ParanoidGirl**: Where's Punky? And disturbed, where you at boy?

**Guest302**: Punky's probably busy.

**4evermadman**: Probably busy spanking that devilman's ass. (o) Ah, man, there I go. Better shut my mouth. (shamefully lowers head)

**Guest302**: ROTFL

**Sworddude3156**: ROTFLMAO

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Punky, if you're reading this, you better read all that nasty stuff they said earlier about you and devilman. They said you were both doing it.

**Guest302**: (immediately goes to top of page to get the scoop)

**2cool4school**: Tattletale. Bet the kids in grade school hated your ass.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: PUNKY! PLEASE INVITE ME! I'VE BEEN GOOD HERE! SEE? INVITE ME! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

**4evermadman**: And you say I'm the immature one? See, this is probably why devilman never bothers coming here anymore.

**2cool4school**: Hey Punky? You still haven't answered our questions. So is this party for real?

**Sworddude3156**: Yeah, you still with us?

**ParanoidGirl**: Disturbed, you still with us too? Been awfully quiet.

**2cool4school**: Punky?

**Sworddude3156**: Something smells fishy. And it ain't my armpits.

**Guest302**: BWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!

**Sworddude3156**: Wtf?

**Guest302**: Just read those parts girlfriend was talking about. Genius! (o)

**4evermadman**: (o) Couldn't help it, lol.

**Sworddude3156**: (o) Spank it!

**ParanoidGirl**: (o)

**2cool4school**: (O) One that's been around.

**Guest302**:

**devilmansgirlfriend**: STOP THAT! YOU SEE PUNKY?!?! THEY'RE NASTY!

**Guest302**: Chill out, babe. Here, drink some beer (hands beer to her)

**Sworddude3156**: Amen, brother.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: YOU chill out, Guest! Just wait til devilman comes. Bet all you ppl will be whimpering like dogs. See, Punky? See how they're all like this? Now PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE INVITE ME! PLEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

**4evermadman**: Dude, I'm surprised Punky hasn't kicked this kid outta the chatroom yet. Punky, seriously, we got a mentally distressed girl here.

**Guest302**: Girlfriend, really, chill.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Like I said before, devilman demands our respect!!!! You idiots should all behave yourselves!

**Guest302**: Sweetie, I just had a hard time at work and my bike just broke down. I haven't had a good laugh in a while so don't ruin the mood here. Relax and join the fun! Think of something funny. Make me laugh, babe.

**ParanoidGirl**: Glad you're having fun here Guest.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: I'm not here to make you laugh Guest. I'm here to chat with devilman. 

**2cool4school**: Aw, man, that sucks. What kinda bike you got Guest?

**Guest302**: Yeah I am having fun here, Paranoid. Though, honestly, I didn't think so. In fact, I came here because a friend of mine said something was up.

**Guest302**: It's a Honda bike, btw. Red. I got another bike but my partner's borrowing it right now. Damn Honda bike keeps breaking down on me so I'll probably trade it in. You into bikes?

**4evermadman**: Hey, I have an awesome idea. Assuming the party deal is bogus, why don't we throw our own? Then invite devilman over?

**Sworddude3156**: Cool idea madman. I'll supply the beer and you supply the condoms. LOL.

**2cool4school**: Bummer Guest. Yeah, I'm into bikes! I'm saving up for one:-D

**Guest302**: That's a sweet idea madman, especially if there's beer involved. Though, what if devilman is a no-show?

**4evermadman**: Guess I'll be drinking all the beer by myself then. :-(

**Guest302**: LOL. I better join you then.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Punky, still here? Please invite me! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

**4evermadman**: Please stop that...

**Guest302**: That's very unattractive, hon.

**ParanoidGirl**: Disturbed and Punky have been quiet for a long time.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: WHATEVER. I'll scream as much as I want here!!!

**2cool4school**: You suppose Punky has him in a private room? Talking about that party?

**4evermadman**: Yeah. Where is he? Punky, you ignoring us or something? Talk to us.

**Sworddude3156**: I think you might be right 2cool4school. Those two have been quiet.

**ParanoidGirl**: I think so too. And not to sound paranoid, but suppose disturbed was right about the party? If he was, devilman probably doesn't want anyone other than his invited guests knowing about it, which is why he's got that special password deal. Punky might be interrogating him as we chat here. Might want to know how much he knows.

**Guest302**: You're very perceptive, Paranoid.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Whatever. devilman isn't like that. You're just being paranoid.

**2cool4school**: Just tried pming disturbed. No answer.

**ParanoidGirl**: Maybe I am. I don't know. Anyway, Guest, is it your first time here?

**Guest302**: Why do you ask?

**Sworddude3156**: Punky, I think you've kept us all in suspense for too long.

_**Seriouslydisturbed666 **has exited Devil Man's Lair Chatroom_

_**PunkyGirlGotGame **has exited Devil Man's Lair Chatroom_

**4evermadman**: WHOA!

**2cool4school**: Didn't see that coming.

**devilsmansgirlfriend**: NOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Sworddude3156**: Both of them left.

**ParanoidGirl**: Oh man. Disturbed just up and left. Didn't even say goodbye. Very unlike him.

**4evermadman**: Worse, Punky didn't tell us a goddamn thing about the party!

**Sworddude3156**: Disturbed probably needed to take a shit. He'll be back. But damn, Punky. What a tease.

**devilsmansgirlfriend**: Come back Punky!!! PLEASE! YOU GOTTA INVITE ME!!!

**ParanoidGirl**: Maybe I really am right?

**Sworddude3156**: Man that Punky. What a slut. Comes in here acting all high and mighty and jerking us around. Then hightails it and leaves without a word. Bitch.

**Guest302**: LOL. Gotta admit, she really _can_ be a bitch. Though, she's more of a nutjob than anything. She thinks the whole government is out to get her or something. 

**Sworddude3156**: Really? I didn't know that. That crazy woman.

**ParanoidGirl**: Guess we have no choice but to wait for Punky to post something on the website. Though, at this point, I think she'll try to prevent other people from getting the scoop on this party. She'll probably deny the whole thing and keep everything under wraps. Label it as a rumor and nothing more.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: COME BACK PUNKY! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEAAAAASSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

**2cool4school**: If you're right Paranoid, you think Punky will ask us questions too?

**4evermadman**: Sorry, Paranoid, but maybe disturbed turned out to be a dud after all.

**ParanoidGirl**: I don't know. You'd think she would talk to us too in order to confirm everything disturbed told and didn't tell us. Honestly, though, I expected devilman to pop his head here. Seeing as how his secret party got out. He'd definitely want to know whether disturbed knows the password and if he leaked it out to us.

**Guest302**: Damn, girl, you a detective or something? Oo

**devilmansgirlfriend**: PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEE COME BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Sworddude3156**: Disturbed is just very disturbed. I bet half the stuff he said is bullshit and nothing more. Party my ass.

**4evermadman**: What a waste of time.

**ParanoidGirl**: I don't know... I've been chatting with disturbed for a year here…

**Sworddude3156**: I'm sending disturbed a virus for making such bogus shit.

**4evermadman**: Yeah. Bogus shit with a capital 's'.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: COME BAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEE COME BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

**2cool4school**: Give it a rest already, girlfriend. She ain't coming back.

**ParanoidGirl**: Btw, Guest, you chat here often?

**Guest302**: Sometimes, sweets. Why? You interrogating me now, lol?

**ParanoidGirl**: No. You sound like a cool guy. I'd like to have you on my friend's list.

**4evermadman**: Yeah, me too!

**Sworddude3156**: Yeah man. You should hang out with us.

**2cool4school**: It's hard finding a normal-talking guy in this chatroom. The usuals here are all Satan worshippers who want to swallow my soul. Anyway, you should definitely join us here.

**ParanoidGirl**: We're all usually here at about this time. Anytime you're feeling lonely come hang out with us. OK? We don't bite as you can see.

**Guest302**: Thanks. You guys are a bright and lively bunch. I don't usually come to chat since, honestly, it's usually dull here. It's always 'I wanna meet devilman.' Nothing else. Then there's that other crowd, the ones who think devilman is some Satan worshipper trying to spread the faith. Or some shit like that. God, it's enough to make a man of my caliber sick.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: OH DEVIL MAN! HEAR ME!!!! I LOVE YOU! WHY AREN'T YOU HERE WITH ME?!?!?!?!

**Guest302**: ... I rest my case.

**4evermadman**: LOL

**devilmansgirlfriend**: SHUT UP! THE PARTY! DISTURB MIGHT'VE BEEN RIGHT! IF DEVILMAN KNOWS WE WANT TO GO THIS BADLY THEN HE'LL GIVE US THE PASSWORD! YOU JUST WAIT! RIGHT NOW YOU'RE BITCHING AT ME BUT WHEN I GET AN INVITATION TO DEVILMAN'S PARTY YOU PPL WILL BE BEGGING ME TO TAKE YOU WITH ME! AND YOU CAN BET I'LL TELL HIM HOW YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN MAKING FUN OF HIM!

**Guest302**: Honey. Baby. Sweetcakes... Four words: calm the hell down.

**devilmansgirlfriend**: DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, JERK! I'M ONLY HERE FOR DEVIL MAN! 

**2cool4school**: Lighten up.

**Sworddude3156**: Even if there was a party, like I said, he'd only invite his buddies. Not nobodies like us.

**4evermadman**: Suddenly I feel so depressed.

**Guest302**:You people don't even know devilman, or what he looks like. He could be a psycho. Or some overgrown Jabba the Hut kinda character. Why wanna go to his party? And I disagree. You guys ain't nobodies. You're a bright bunch.

**ParanoidGirl**: I guess we want to put a face behind the name. There's just something so mysterious about him and I'd love to confront that mystery.

**4evermadman**: I want to tell him thanks in person. I'm very much into the paranormal. Demons, witches, ghosts, aliens... the works. I ain't a cult member or devil worshipper though. Nothing like that. I'm just fascinated with the unknown. I'm even considering being a paranormal investigator myself. But my folks and everyone at school, they think I'm a loser and that I'm gonna turn into a madman. Over here, I feel accepted. devilman just makes me feel that way. I could learn about something and not be accused of being a heretic or something.

**2cool4school**: Same here. Everyone at school thinks I'm weird just because I like to draw devils. Truthfully, I find this place inspirational for my art. Yeah, my work is on the dark side. Twisted. But I think deep down, it's really about me staring into the void and not being afraid of it.

**Sworddude3156**: That was philosophically beautiful, man.

**Guest302**: Yeah, that was. I'd like to see some of your work since I find that type of stuff attractive too. Sword, your turn.

**Sworddude3156**: Ah, shit. I don't have anything as dramatic to say as the rest of you guys. I just wanna see that sword collection of his. I got my personal collection but it's shit against his. Damn, those photos in the gallery section ain't enough. I gotta see this guy's collection in person. I mean, it's like going to see the fucking Statue of Liberty. Talk about an out of body experience.

**Guest302**: I like you kid. And you, girlfriend? Why do you want to see devilman so badly?

**devilmansgirlfriend**: Oh please! Why am I going to explain myself to you? Gosh, you sound like you own this place. DEVIL MAN DOES! NOT YOU! Anyway, I'm tired. I'll come back tomorrow. Hopefully I'll chat with devilman. I'm his biggest fan and unlike you all, I don't make fun of him. He's too precious for any of that nonsense.

**Guest302**: Suit yourself, babe. Later.

**_devilmansgirlfriend_** _has exited Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**2cool4school**: What a bitch.

**Sworddude3156**: Whatever. I think I'll call it a day too. Got an exam I'm supposed to study for.

**4evermadman**: It's past my bed time too. It was cool meeting you Guest. You're very enlightening.

**Guest302**: Yeah. You guys really were fun to hang out with.

**ParanoidGirl**: I hope we see more of you guest. Come here anytime you need a load off.

**Guest302**: I appreciate it. By the way, I'm going to send you four some stuff. Check your inboxes soon. You guys were awesome.

**2cool4school**: Thanks!

**Sworddude3156**: Dude, you're cool. I'll send you a couple pics of my sword collection. Ain't as cool as devilman's but, meh.

**Guest302**: That would rock, kid. Looking forward. Send me some of your art too, 2cool.

**2cool4school**: Most certainly! (feels like Pablo Picasso all of a sudden)

**4evermadman**: I'll check my inbox soon. Thanks Guest!

**ParanoidGirl**: Very sweet, Guest. Remember, you gotta make a permanent username so we can keep in touch with each other. 'Guest' doesn't suit your persona.

**Sworddude3156**: How about 'coolguy'?

**4evermadman**: Or 'spankthisthing69':-p

**Guest302**: LOL. Good names. But actually, kids, I already got a username.

_**Guest302 **has changed his name to **devilman**_

**devilman**: See you at the party, guys.

**_devilman_** _has exited Devil Man's Dungeon Chatroom_

**Author: Hoped you digged this chapter. Next stop… Dante's Journal Entry 1!**


	5. Dante's Journal Entry 1

**Author: **Now we finally get into Dante's introduction.

** Dante's Journal Entry 1 **

Been awhile. Just starting a new journal since the other one went M.I.A. on me for a month now. So many things have been going on lately that I lost track of it. Damn if I find it now. What's that saying again? Once you've given up looking for what you want to find, you wind up finding it? It was something like that...

Business has been booming beautifully these past few months, all thanks to Punk. That girl might be 'out there' but I've gotta give credit where it's due. The site is such a hit that I haven't had the chance to even clock in yet. I have to prioritize my gigs even. Traveling from one place to the other side of the world can be a big pain in the ass. The money's definitely been good and I get to bust some heads. Anything's better than going back and tracking down errant teenagers or photographing cheating spouses again. Not to sound like a prick, but I hate doing things that are beneath me. I got talents best suited for other things. Yeah, okay, any financial problems I encounter are entirely my fault, and that's why I end up doing those stupid jobs in the first place. I spend every dime I earn buying custom-made boots and coats to fit my style. But sue me. I'm an artist for Christ's sake. I need to look the part.

The fridge used to be empty months back. Not even a crumb there. I took my chances with a carton of milk that had expired ages ago and had diarrhea for a week. Now look at me. It ain't just the massive c-notes I'm getting, but the jobs that really click for me. Like I said, it's been beautiful.

Enzo called yesterday, saying something about having a line of jobs ready for me. He's desperate now that I don't need his sorry ass to find me gigs anymore, but I haven't cut him off. Call it devotion or plain pity on my part. Still, the bastard stood me up. We were supposed to meet at Bull's Eye today. He still hasn't gotten his sorry ass here. It's already closing time for me so if he decides to present himself right now I'm giving him the royal treatment: my boot up his ass. Then I'll hear him out.

Trish's still away. It's been awhile now and despite my busy schedule the place is dead without her. Lord knows where that woman went now. Not even a call. Last time we spoke she said she finished the job in Mexico but that she needed to first clear some things in her head before coming back. Whatever that meant. Lots of luck there, hon. Been there. Done that. I woke up with one hell of a hangover the next day, in bed with a drag queen named Chiquita.

All right, so, she told me she'd be back by Friday. I've been busy setting up a surprise party for her. It's an anniversary party, actually, celebrating the first day she arrived here at Devil May Cry. Technically speaking, she arrived here on a Thursday but since she said she'll be here on Friday I figured... Anyway, I've wanted to throw her a party for a long time, but there wasn't much money back then. The booming business we've gotten now has given me the money to go all out and celebrate her comeback in style. And besides, it's been stressful for the two of us. Even I want to take a break. A little R&R wouldn't be so bad for the both us. And besides, Enzo is always telling me how I don't socialize enough.

I've invited past clients to the party. It's a sneaky way of getting current happenings as well as insuring business for the future during drought season. Of course, I invited close friends and associates to the party. Lady emailed me an hour ago and said she'd try to fit it into her busy schedule. What a broad. Lucia might be a no show since she's busy taking care of Granny who's been sick. Rest her soul. I also sent an invite to Gunny, my English man. You know, the former professional hitman who's rich as hell? Yeah. That one. In case you forgot, he enjoys hunting devils with the latest technology up to date. Lasers. Gadgets. The works. I hope he comes. We always have a blast together. And he gives me some cool shit too. Finally, I decided to invite a couple of kids from my online chatroom. I'll need to buy some fruit punch and other kid-friendly stuff for them.

Somehow I gotta keep Punk busy running errands for me during the party. That girl will scare just about anyone with her 'government conspiracy theories.' Not to mention, she's constantly nagging me for sex, though not for reasons any 'normal' woman would want to have it. No. Apparently, she wants to have a demon baby so she could raise it and use it to bring down the government, which she claims to be the axis of evil. She's one crazy bitch. That's saying a lot coming from a guy like me.

Well, I've about had it with that damn bike of mines. It broke down today. Again. It happened on my way to the Bull's Eye bar where, like I just said, that dickhead said he'd be but wasn't. Goddamn bike... I know, I should've traded it in years ago. And yeah, this isn't the first time I've yelled at this bitch and promised to ditch her, only to make up with her the next day. I know. I'm just too damn sentimental for my own good. And, c'mon, you got to understand. It's been with me for a long time. It may not be as extravagant as Lady's ride but it's always gotten my ass to the places where I need to be, even if I gotta walk the way back. Walking is good for the soul, ain't it?

Anyway, those chop guys are telling me I need to buy some repair parts for it. Go blow yourselves. I may have the cash but this isn't the first you've tried to pull one over me, assholes. To hell with you. I'll find another shop. Or I might just fix the bike myself, even if I gotta use duct tape and wires to do it.

I'm going to check the website again later. News on the party somehow got out. According to Punk, it was one of my clients, Luke, who told an online buddy of his about it. Bastard. I'm going to put a laxative in his beer when he shows up to the party. Luckily, Punk has taken measures and now we have damage control. Still, couldn't hurt to peek around to see how things are faring in the cyber world.

I'm not surprised by these turn of events. It was bound to happen. It's the fucking internet, anything goes. The site itself is a fortress. Totally unhackable, thanks to Punk. But in the end, it always comes down to word of mouth. Some people just can't keep their holes shut. Even in the mercenary business that kinda shit happens and people get killed for it. Good thing the passwords never stay the same, otherwise I'd be screwed.

On the up side, though, some good came from it. The kids who were in the know-how turned out to be bright and all right (Still wondering if that Paranoid babe is a detective or psychic. Talk about hitting the nail hard.). They're the kids I decided to invite to the party. And what the hell, I might send an invitation to that Disturbed fellow for being a good sport during Punk's interrogation. Didn't lie when he could've, nor emailed the other kids about Punk's questioning. Talk about class. It's a rare breed these days. They've all been true to their word by keeping the party details to themselves. Therefore, I have no second thoughts. I'm even paying for their plane tickets (Hey, whoever said that the D-man doesn't care for the kids of the future? Gotta spread the love). Getting permissions from mom and pop, though... Well, I can't help them with that. Maybe I'll chat with them to see if they've solved that problem yet. I'll tell their parents they're going on an 'educational field trip.'

Speaking of children...sunrise is almost here. Normally I sleep the day off but tomorrow's really important. I gotta get up early to see Nemo. I wonder how my little man is holding up? Can't wait to finally see him again. Been too long and I doubt the letters I send him do much when I know he prefers seeing me in person. Sometimes being in this business can be... emotionally draining. Anyway, I got a cool present to give to him. I'm sure he'll like it. Looks like I'm taking the subway tomorrow.

I know I should be worried about all the business I've been getting lately. Either the internet has provided easy and direct access to my clients, or there's something major brewing up in the underworld. I can't help but to feel it's the latter. There's something very funny in the air, something not quite right. I guess time will tell if my hunch is on the jackpot. Until then, adios, for now.

**- Dante**

P.S. Rocky the Special Prime Edition is finally out in stores today. About damn time. Eye of the tiger, baby!

**Author:** Next up, Dante's Day 1!


	6. Dante's Day 1: Sweet Lullaby

**Author:** **Howdy guys and gals! Thanks for tuning in! As you can see, this is the beginning phase of the story, so things are slowly going along. Enjoy the calamity while it lasts, though, as things will start to heat up soon. Until then, enjoy a day in Dante's shoes.**

**Dante's Day 1 – Sweet Lullaby **

It was already drizzling when Dante stepped out of his two-story office building around nine in the morning. The forecast said it'd be raining all day with strong chances of heavy winds and possible flooding. Still, that wasn't going to keep him from going to the subway. He left the door to his building open, setting a small object at the foot of the doorframe to prevent it from getting wet. Meanwhile, he prepared his umbrella. He didn't really care about getting wet but the small object, a colorfully wrapped present the size of a book, was considered precious cargo. He looked up to see the dark grey sky for a moment, only to frown. His building's neon lights were still on, the words _Devil May Cry_ faintly blinking on and off again. Dante shook his head.

"Dammit, Punk," he muttered and went back inside to click the light off. "How many times I gotta tell you to turn it off before you leave?"

The moment he stepped back outside the rain started to pour down, immediately drenching him. He was about to curse but caught a glimpse of the present still on the floor. Dante smiled, remembering why he was going through all this trouble. He opened his mouth and drank some of the incoming rain.

"Yes," he said out loud, competing with the sound of the wind. "Nothing like acid rain in the morning!"

He howled out loud and began spinning himself around and around, arms spread out. Half of his odd behavior came from a case of beer and bottle of tequila he drank last night, but most of it came from excitement too. Several people trying to escape the rain took notice and went the other way. Dante just laughed until he stopped spinning, nearly colliding with his trashcan. He waited a few minutes for the dizziness to subside before finally opening his umbrella. The words, 'God's Pissing Again?' popped right up in bold, bright letters. A small illustration of a white bearded and robed man taking a piss on a cloud showed just beneath it the words. Still chuckling to himself, he retrieved the present and locked up, soon heading for the subway.

Despite having to get up early and Punk's negligence, overall, he was in a good mood. Today was an important day for him. He was seeing someone very close to him that he hadn't seen for awhile so there was no reason to be in a sour condition. Even as cars drove by and splashed water all over his favorite jeans he started to whistle a merry tune.

Dante certainly was a colorful character. Red was obviously his favorite color as his usual attire, a trench coat and pants, shared the same color. However, those were his 'work' clothes. Today he wore only his faded gray jeans matched with a yellow shirt. A heavy leather bomber jacket, which echoed the style of the WWII sheepskin version, hung over his lean and muscular frame.

He was a handsome man with rock star good looks and a seriously toned body men admired and women fancied. Upon first assumption, one would think he deliberately dyed his wavy, neck-length hair silver. However, those close to him would discover this was actually his natural hair color. Even more immediate were those eyes of his. They shared the same hue of the clear blue ocean itself and seemed capable of piercing through anything, sending shivers up the spine of anyone directly in their path. Another assumption people often made was that a man of his caliber was a ladies man who had an ego as tall as his massive height. In truth, while he did sport a mighty ego, he usually put business over pleasure. The women in his life, from those he considered family to casual intimate partners, were never his trophies as many had speculated. And despite being arrogant, conceited, and maybe even demanding, he always put his personal reservations aside when the situation called for it. If anything, he was a sensitive creature who happened to be really good in concealing emotions that might put him at a disadvantaged. Perhaps a little _too_ good.

His ability to keep people guessing also served to hide other secrets about himself, especially those that connected to his past. No one knew how incredible his life's story was unless they were somehow connected to it. His history was the stuff of fairy tales. Or nightmares.

By day he was a paranormal investigator. By night, however, he was a mercenary who hunted down things that went bump in the night, namely demons. However, witches, vampires and the occasional werewolf were not beneath him and were considered fair game. He possessed abnormal strength, speed, and an incredible healing system that would put even Superman to shame. These abilities of his were passed onto him by his father, the legendary dark knight, Sparda.

Sparda was a strong hearted demon warrior who once served under the ranks of Hell's emperor, Mundus. In time, he rebelled against his demonic brethren and fought on behalf of all the humans helpless against the forces of darkness. Allies and enemies emerged as Sparda took on the emperor. When he had accomplished his goals, he resided on Earth to live among the people he saved. Millenniums later, Sparda found his bride and sired two twin sons: Dante and Vergil.

Unfortunately, evil never rested and it certainly had a grudge. When it threatened to return, Sparda sealed the gate to the demon world as well as its minions. Sparda had given his life to protect those he loved. Even more traumatic events occurred later on, with the death of his wife, Eva. She too sacrificed herself to save their two sons. One survived and trained to avenge his family. The other was taken by darkness, never to return to the boy he once was.

Dante's mood became a little sober and he stopped whistling. On rainy days like this it was hard not to think about his mother or brother. His hand reflectively touched a ruby amulet hidden beneath his shirt. It was given to him by his mother on his birthday. Up until now, it used to be split into two halves. His thumb slowly slid over the other side of the amulet, the half that used to belong to his brother, Vergil.

His connection to Sparda had granted him incredible strength and power, the power of the devils. Yet, his connection to his mother made him human. Compassionate. Demons may have been powerful, but they were nothing more than mindless puppets. The power of freewill granted him true power, something Vergil never did understand.

Dante was certainly a handful. Even Lady, a woman hard to keep up with, finally found her match. He pissed at any devil that dared to confront him. Likewise, he mocked everyone, even those that were obviously stronger or powerful than he was. Anytime there was a fight looming around the corner he welcomed it with open arms and guns blazing. He took it all in good stride and now all of them were resting ten feet below ground. Hail to the King of Chaos, baby.

He wasn't a crazy, high strung guy he used to be back in younger days but he was still in the psychotic range. There was the Temen-ni-gru incident. After that, Mallet Island, which was followed by a chain of other events like Vidu Di Mali. He had matured since then. Not just physically but also mentally. His attitude... work ethics... everything. Still, he had to remember that being able to grin at his adversaries was the only way of keeping him from growing mad with rage or sadness. It was certainly that ability of his that kept him from dwelling over the past.

Dante continued walking and minutes later, he located the subway's entrance across the street. He ran to that direction, almost getting hit but not caring. After descending a staircase and moving from one platform to the next, he finally found his train number and propped himself into an empty seat.

The present sat quietly on his lap as he arced himself to the side, wanting to view the passing scenery. Still, he wasn't really looking at it. He was deep in thought, a sad smile forming in his lips.

It'd been awhile since he visited Nemo. Ever since they moved him to the other orphanage across town it had been difficult seeing him on a regular basis. The many jobs he'd been given these days also contributed to the problem.

Dante remembered the first time he saw him. Scared. Shocked. And full of blood. At only five years old, Nemo had witnessed the slaughter of his parents by his demon-possessed sister. Nemo couldn't scream for help because he was mute. All he could do was run out and bang on all the doors in the apartment building. No one came out. He went back to help his parents, still hoping they were alive. His possessed sister snatched him the moment he came into the living room.

A priest had called Dante the day before the incident and told him about the possessed girl. The Vatican was still pending on his request to perform an exorcism so he asked the devil hunter if he could step in since he felt the situation was too critical to wait any longer. Already piled with a heavy workload, Dante decided to arrive at the apartment complex the next day, halfway expecting the case to be as mild as the others had been.

He arrived at night. Standing in front of apartment 303, he knocked and knocked on the door but got no answer. He didn't hear anything. Even his extraordinary hearing senses only picked up the television from next door, a leaking faucet, and a soft _thuck-thuck-thuck_ sound. He was about to give up until his gut feeling told him to open the door and so he did.

There was little Nemo. A frail young boy with large black eyes, thick lips, and skin the color of deep dark chocolate. Full of promise and innocence. He lied helplessly on top of the living room's coffee table. That _thuck-thuck-thuck_ sound he heard was coming from his sister's kitchen blade as it kept slashing and tearing away at the boy's chest and arms. Chunks of meat flying everywhere. All the while, she held a calm expression in her face, not even blinking. Before Dante took another step the girl finally stopped. Then slowly turned to face him and smiled, as if nothing was wrong. Dante liked to believe Nemo wasn't conscious to see his sister slash at her wrists and neck before finally gutting herself. But deep down, he knew better.

He rushed Nemo to a nearby hospital, trying to fight back the rage building inside him. Despite nearly dying twice, the little guy pulled through and remained at the hospital for close to a year. Countless of surgeries were done to replace the bone, tissue, and blood loss. Dante sat by his side throughout the whole ordeal, using up all of his own finances to pay for the necessary operations. Every day of it he fought back the anger and frustration over the demon that did this. Or how he failed to protect Nemo and his family by not arriving sooner. Those emotions quickly subsided into compassion when he realized how strong Nemo. The little guy was determined to live.

Nemo obviously gained scars from the traumatic event, but not just in the physical sense. Already ten years old, he still slept under his bed, fearful his dead sister might come back to life to finish the job. He didn't go anywhere near dark places for the same reason she might be there too. Finally, he avoided going anywhere without the teddy bear his father gave him the Christmas before the event took place. He hung onto it not because it held sentimental value, but because it talked. Among one of its lines was '_Yoo-hoo, I need help! Come on over and help me, will ya_?'

It was his personal distress call.

Since that day, the only person Nemo ever trusted and communicated with was Dante. Other than him, Nemo consistently kept himself at a distance with anyone else. He figured if his own sister was capable of trying to kill him then _anyone_ was a potential threat. Nemo's lack of response to the linguists and doctors made them all feel the child had no knowledge of sign language, especially since he was only five. However, once Dante came around they learned otherwise. Dante knew nothing about the language, but forced himself to learn from the linguists present.

Dante looked down at the present on his lap. Then took out a letter from his jacket. It was from Nemo, given to him many weeks ago. The words _'See you soon'_ were written on it, along with a drawing of the two stick figures holding hands under several trees. One of the stick figures was small and black while the other was tall and red. The red one had a small box with the same color of the present he currently had on his lap. Small lines were drawn everywhere on the picture, representing rain drops. Dante chuckled softly as he examined the drawing.

Something else happened to Nemo that tragic day, something many would consider a blessing while some a curse. Dante always heard stories about people overcoming a traumatic experience and gaining a _sixth sense_ afterwards. But he never paid them much mind. Yet, Nemo displayed his ability to predict the future through simple drawings after the tragedy. During one of Dante's hospital visits, Nemo showed him a picture of a bus full of kids under water. In the news, many officials were currently searching for a school bus that had gone missing for two days. A week later, they discovered it underwater, having skidded off the road during a rain storm. More revelations were shown in Nemo's drawings, each one accurate. The thought of using Nemo's gift to help in his cases never crossed his mind. He'd never use Nemo like that, even if his life depended on it. And yet, Nemo was always ready to help him. He'd show him where to find, what he preferred to call, '_the bogeymen_.'

After half an hour passed, the subway train reached his destination. He exited it and walked the rest of the way to the orphanage. The rain was still pouring but not nearly as much as before. He walked a few blocks down a neighborhood notorious for burglary, rape, drug abuse, and violence. Very much like his own block. Still, Dante wasn't worried. He battled demons for a living. A serial killer was cheap change compared to that. If anything, he felt sorry for the bastard who attempted to steal Nemo's present.

A large dark gray building started to loom into view and Dante quickened his pace. His heart started to jump and his hand clutched tightly onto Nemo's gift. The woman he spoke to on the phone for directions also described the orphanage to him. It fit the same profile. It must be it. From where he currently was, it was only a three minute walk to the site. His excitement slowly dissipated the closer he got to the building, however. When he finally stood directly across it from the other side of the street, he completely stopped. Dante frowned.

"Nemo..." he whispered to himself.

The Path to Light Orphanage was a three-storied building that had large cracks on its walls and barred windows. There was graffiti everywhere even though the orphanage tried to repaint over it, as indicated by the odd patches of discoloration. Even though the lawn had been trimmed and the large trees were lively green, trash littered everywhere. The playground at the far east side of the orphanage was a mess as well. Empty beer bottles and used condoms were scattered there, most likely from the local and insensitive street thugs who snuck in to have a kiddie party. The large horizontally barred gates did little to make the scenery pleasant. Overall, it looked more like an asylum than a place for children. Hell, the children here were probably better off out in the streets.

Dante took a deep breath and crossed the road, heading straight to the security officer guarding the entrance gate. He was sitting in a small white-colored station currently reading a newspaper. Even the window there was protected with iron bars. The officer looked up when he noticed Dante approaching.

"Got an appointment?" the guard asked, bored.

"No," Dante answered through the station's window, "But I wanted to see one of the kids here. I'm a close friend of his and heard he was transferred to this place."

The guard sighed as he set aside his newspaper and grabbed a tablet and pen. "Name of the child, please."

"Ne-" Dante stopped suddenly, remembering that _Nemo_ was only a nickname he'd given him. "Dwayne Richardson."

"And your name?" the guard asked, writing the information down.

"Dante."

The guard nodded. Then picked up the phone in front of him. "Yeah. I've got a gentleman named Dante here who wants to see Dwayne Richardson. He says he's a friend."

A moment of silence.

"I see... All right. Thanks." The guard returned his attention back to Dante. He looked a bit worried. "Sorry, sir, but... Dwayne is currently occupied."

"Occupied?" Dante cocked an eyebrow. Something was up.

"He's with a social worker," the officer seemed to add, "Come by tomorrow, please."

"Can't I at least wait for him? Where's the waiting room? Aren't these visiting hours?"

"I'm sorry, sir," he replied hastily. "Come back tomorrow."

Dante growled. Something was wrong and this jerk wasn't telling him. When he didn't budge from his spot, the guard stood up from his chair and placed a hand on his gun, giving the silver haired man a visual warning. Dante took the hint but silently cursed to himself. He promised Nemo he'd see him today. And dammit, he was really looking forward to this too. Unfortunately, he couldn't just force his way in or beat the guard down to a bloody pulp. That'd only escalate the problem. No, there was nothing he could do but comply. Dante gave the officer a stern look before doing an about-face and walking away. He could feel the guard's eyes on him but he didn't care. Nemo's present was still in his hand.

Dante was about to go down the path he came from but decided, instead, to look around the building. Even if he were outside he could still speculate where Nemo was being held up. First floor? Second? Third? He thought about a lot things as he made his way around the perimeter, staring up at the building. The rain still poured down, bouncing off his umbrella. He clutched the present close to him. How were the other kids treating him? In the previous orphanage the kids were always making fun of the scars he had on his chest and arms. Some were frightened. Even if seclusion suited Nemo, Dante felt that behavior would only hurt him in the long run. Just look at his own life.

Yes, he had friends and close contacts. Yes, he had Trish. Lucia. Lady. Gunny. And countless of others. But they were all colleagues. Partners. Friends. Despite the close connection he felt with each of them he'd never share any intimate details about himself. He could never fully commit to a lover either. In fact, he never had one. The thought of fully committing to a woman both physically _and_ emotionally seemed out of his league. Casual sex or friendship, maybe a combination of both, was the only thing he could offer. My God, the wall he built around himself was so heavily fortified that he might not ever experience the joys his mother and father had. He feared the same thing would happen to Nemo.

Dante reached the south side of the building where a bunch of trees were meters away from the gate. They touched the building's concrete walls and waved briskly against the wind. He approached the massive gate and pushed his face between the thick metal bars. He closed his eyes.

"Sorry, kid," Dante told himself, "I'll be back here tomorrow. Even if I gotta call the Marines."

When he opened his eyes he frowned, noticing a small silhouette shape standing just below one of the trees. He blinked and took a step back. Whatever it was, he couldn't quite make it out since it continued to hide among the shadow of the trees. Then it moved a bit forward, as if it sensed him. Dante immediately recognized the small form and nearly dropped the present.

"Nemo," Dante exclaimed, a huge grin in his face.

Dante quickly checked his surroundings and noticed a tree a few feet left of him. He dropped the umbrella. With his teeth, he bit down and held onto a corner of present. With his hands freed now he climbed the tree as high as it could go. From there he jumped to the gate's top vertical bar and hung there for a second. He immediately pushed back with his legs against two horizontal bars, thrusting himself high into the sky to perform an impossible back flip. He landed on the other side of the gate with a loud thud.

Dante let go of the present in his mouth and dropped it to one of his hands. He walked to the pack of trees where Nemo patiently waited for him. The drawing Nemo had given him with them standing beneath several trees stuck in his head.

Nemo's dark face lit up the moment Dante approached, his big eyes widening. One couldn't tell him apart from any other ten year old boy since he wore a heavy red sweater with a hood. A pair of long khaki shorts and white, laced-up shoes fitted into him nicely. The scars on his face were also very faint, the most apparent of them concealed beneath clothing. He looked modern and approachable. However, the teddy bear nestled under his arm reminded Dante the real deal.

When Dante finally reached Nemo the silver haired man looked surprised. He smiled as he kneeled down to reach the child's level and tenderly patted him on the head.

"You've grown your hair out I see," Dante commented, noting the thickness in his hair. He grinned. "It's almost an afro now. How very retro and stylish of you."

Bright white teeth showed in little Nemo's face, a faint visible scar running from his neck to his chin stretched. Nemo hugged Dante, obviously excited to see him. He looked at the man before him, eyes glistening and bright. He soon let go and made a series of quick hand signals that Dante almost had a hard time following. Dante laughed.

"No way! That why the guard didn't want me to come in? 'Cause the social workers don't know where you are right now? Ha!" Dante set the present down and grabbed him, pulling him close to his chest. With a knuckle he started rubbing it on Nemo's head, giving him a noogie. "You little sneak!"

Little Nemo tried to flee from Dante's grasp but couldn't. All he could do was fling his arms wildly and laugh even if no sound came out. After Dante felt he had enough punishment he let go of his victim and showed Nemo his present.

"Here. This is for you, Nemo. Knowing you, though, you already know what's inside."

Nemo quickly shook his head no, but it was clear in his smile that he did. He grabbed the present and went near the trunk of a tree, propping himself down on the soiled grass. Dante followed him. He watched the child carefully undo the wrapper, suddenly remembering a Christmas when he and Vergil battled to see who could unwrap presents faster.

It was still drizzling but the trees helped prevent the two from getting too wet. For Dante, this was perfect. The boy he considered a baby brother was sitting next to him, eagerly opening his present. When Nemo finally undid the wrapper, the child looked up at him. A tear running down his face.

It was a custom-made night lamp that took the shape of an angel spreading out its wings. It had a built-in music box, sharing the same theme Dante's own childhood musical box had. The present was to help him sleep at night and keep the shadows at bay. Somehow, Dante had the impression Nemo was waiting for this gift.

Nemo made a quick _thank you_ gesture before putting his head against Dante's chest. He played the night lamp's lullaby Dante used to hear as a child and closed his eyes for awhile. Dante put an arm over him. With the sound of the lullaby and drizzling rain playing in the background, it became a very quiet moment for the two. Each was haunted by his own past and present. Dreams and nightmares. Love and hate. They were two of a kind, embedded into each other like a chain.

It didn't take a long time for the people looking for Nemo to hear the music box. Dante heard them approach nearby and knew his time with Nemo was coming to an end, just like any dream. The child knew this too since he opened his eyes. He slowly stood up and looked down at Dante. There was a sad, anxious look in his face. Before long, he took out a sheet of paper from his sweater's pocket. It was a drawing. He handed it over to Dante and made an unsettlingly hand gesture.

_Boogeyman_.

Before Dante had a chance to see the drawing Nemo was already leaving, preparing to meet the social workers who were tuning in to the music. With one hand holding his teddy bear and the other holding the night lamp, Dante watched in silence as Nemo walked away.

**Author: Aw, who knew Dante had a baby brother. For all you Vergil fans, stay tuned for Pandora's storyline coming up next. You'll see how our favorite deranged, blue-obsessed devil fits into this story. :D**


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